Too Easy To Love

Too Easy To Love

Chapter One

Jess

My head hurts!

Actually, it's throbbing, and I can't hear over the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

My eyelids are swollen shut and feel twice their size. My lips are all puffy, and my throat feels dry and raw. I cried all of the moisture from my body, so there isn't even enough left to create saliva to swallow with.

My entire chest and ribs are aching. Is the aching because of how tense my muscles were while I was crying and sobbing for hours, or because of the effort it took to suck in each breath?

Or could it be because of the way my heart was pumping so hard before it shattered into a million broken pieces, leaving only a weeping, torn vision of red.

My entire body is aching from head to toe. No muscle or ligament has been left unharmed by the hours of being wound up so tightly. Every part of me has been affected by the time I spent curled up in bed earlier today while I was letting myself fall completely apart.

But what I'm doing now isn't any better. I'm on my hands and knees on the bathroom floor, breathing hard, trying not to vomit for the fifth time. My body wants to vomit again, but there is nothing left to bring up, so I'm trying every breathing technique I have learned to finally calm myself down. I came in here with the intention of having a cold shower to try and snap myself out of this dark hell, but I only made it two steps before I had to fling my head over the toilet seat.

I lift one hand from the floor and grab hold of the sink. I bring one foot up underneath me. Then I use them both to lift myself up off the floor. I am unsteady on my feet and have to use my other hand to reach for the sink before I fall back down again. My head is swimming, and I'm finding it hard to find my balance.

After holding on tightly to the sink until my knuckles are turning white, I finally feel like I can lift my head. But when I do, the vision I see in the mirror makes me sick. I hate that girl looking back at me. I want to shout and scream at her and pull her hair out. I want to accuse her of ruining my life, of not being strong enough to cope with the death of her mother, of not being able to find a way to reach out for help when she so clearly needed to. For pushing her father away when he was doing all he could do to help her, for falling down into the dark pits of depression and for not trying hard enough to climb back out of them.

I want her to say sorry. I want her to promise she will try harder. I want her to not give up. I need her to not give up. She has to find a way to get through this latest setback and move forward towards a life she can one day be proud of. A life where she can smile and be happy without the fear of her depression dragging her back down again. I want her to fight for the things she wants. I want her to fight for the man she wants. The man she loves.

But she just keeps staring back at me with a sad, desperate look on her face. Unable to come up with an answer on how to move from this state she is in.

I close my eyes.

I take a deep breath.

I let it out slowly.

Then I open my eyes again.

When I stare into the mirror this time, I'm determined to find what I'm looking for. Not that girl that I hate, but the woman that I know I can be. Deep down inside, I know there is a stronger me. There has to be because I'm my mother’s daughter, and my mother would never have fallen down and not gotten back up. I might have been covered in the veil of tragedy and sadness for years, but Wade has shown me that there are things worth fighting for even if I have to fight myself to get to them.

This here, in the cold bathroom of my apartment, is not the life I want to live. I don't want to be this person. I don't want to always fall apart at the first sign of trouble or stress. I want to be able to say, Yes I'm having a bad moment, but it's only one moment. It will pass.

With this resolve, I walk to the shower and turn it on cold. I strip out of my clothes and take a quick step in. Arrrrr! I scream out at the shock of the freezing cold water, but I don't move out of it. Instead, I move until my entire head is under the water. It chills me instantly. But at the same time, it is refreshing, and it is helping to clear my brain a little. I can only stand it for a few minutes before I turn the water off, jump out, and grab a towel to wrap myself in.

It has the effect I was hoping for. It was just enough to clear my head so that I can form some type of coherent thoughts. And my first thought is I need to turn my phone on and send Wade a text saying I'm fine and looking forward to lunch tomorrow so he doesn't worry too much or turn up here to see me this way. Then I need to contact Dr. Winter.

I grab my phone and power it up. When it is ready, I gasp at what I see on the screen. It is 11 at night. I think it was about 1 p.m. when Wade brought me home after lunch. How could I have lost that many hours? I feel sick at that thought but push it aside and try and concentrate on contacting Wade. I first notice that I have a few messages. One from Dr. Winter asking me to call her back, one from Bob hoping I feel better soon, and one from Wade that brings a tear to my eye.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But I love you so much I would do anything to make sure you are safe and well but I should have told you sooner. I miss you already. Please let me know you’re ok. I won’t be able to sleep until I hear from you. Xx

I send him a quick text back.

I understand. See you at lunch tomorrow. We'll talk more then. Xx

Thanks for texting me back. Now I can sleep. I can't wait to see you tomorrow. I love you so much Jess. Sweet dreams. Xx

Because it's late, I won’t phone Dr. Winter, but I send a text asking to see her first thing tomorrow morning if that's possible. She texts back right away saying she can meet me there at 7:30 in the morning. I reply with a thank you, throw a T-shirt on, and head back to the bathroom. I don't know how long my current calm will last, so I decide to take a sleeping tablet tonight. Dr. Winter prescribed them to me when I first started seeing her, but I've only used them twice. But after my breakdown today, I am utterly exhausted and in need of a sound sleep.

I don't want to take a chance of waking in the middle of the night to have my mind instantly racing, preventing me from falling back asleep. Or to have a horrific nightmare leaving me in a dark and dreary place. I want to be well-rested and calm when I talk to Dr. Winter in the morning.

I crawl into bed, lie on my back, and stare at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim me. The only thing I try and think about before I sleep is Wade. What it felt like to hear him say I love you and what it felt like to say those words back. But I'm still not happy about the secrets he has kept. He should have told me he was seeing Dr. Winter too on that first weekend and that Bob was his uncle when I received that information from Dr. Winter.

Secrets can be lies, and lies can be secrets. They’re the same. They both hurt.

If that drunk driver that hit my mom's car had told the truth to his best friend who had asked him earlier that night, Are you okay to drive? my mom might still be alive.

If I had told the truth to my dad when he asked me numerous times, Are you doing okay, kiddo? I might not have fallen deeper into my depression.

And if I had been truthful to myself about how much worse my depression had become since my move to New York, I might not have ended up standing on a bridge on a rainy night trying to fly off the edge.

Wade might have thought he kept those secrets from me for my own good, but he's had many moments since then to tell me. I shouldn't have found out the way I did. I have been hurting so badly today.

Could it be that Wade's feelings for me are not as true as he is making me believe? Should I be questioning everything he has told me so far? Will he lie to me again because he thinks I won't be able to handle the truth? Will he ever think I can handle the truth? I don't want to be in a relationship where I will be forever treated like a child, not mature enough to handle the reality that is life. I want to be treated as an equal, like my opinions and feelings are important.

I have sheltered myself from life for so many years. I am finally at a place in my life where I can try to truly live again, so I refuse to take any more steps back and be protected from the world like I'm made of glass. I need to make mistakes so I can learn from them. That's how people grow. I want to grow into a woman my mother would be proud of.

But I won't live a life full of lies. If I forgave him this time, because he has been so wonderful to me, am I giving him permission to lie to me again? I ... I ... I don't know what to think. All I do know is Wade kept two very important pieces of information from me, and I need to tell him that I need the truth more than anything.

Chapter Two

Jess

She looks so beautiful. I wonder if I'll be that beautiful when I grow up. My mom is standing at the edge of the water as the waves lap at her feet. She is wearing a thin, white dress over her pale blue bikini. The dress and her long, blonde hair are floating lazily in the breeze. I'm sitting back higher on the beach, exhausted after a day of swimming with my dad. I'm busy arranging shells into the words of our names. Mom, Dad, and Jessica. But it's the sight of my mom that has stopped my little game. With the bright sun shining down on her, she looks like she belongs in a picture.

I drop my gaze back down to my shells, but soon after, I hear my mom squeal with laughter. When I look back up, I see that my dad has scooped her up into his arms and is now walking her out deeper into the water. Just as the water reaches his waist, he flings my mom up high in the air and watches with a smile as she becomes immersed in the ocean. When she surfaces, she rises with her hands on her hips and a mock scowl on her lips. She moves towards Dad until she is standing right in front of him.

He reaches out and pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and her lips slowly turn into a smile. Then he reaches both his hands behind her, locks them around her waist, and picks her up, hugging her tightly to him. My mom’s arms reach up and wrap around his neck and they stand, staring into each other’s eyes, and that is how they stay for what feels like forever. I can't take my eyes off of them. They look so happy. I hope I find someone to be that happy with when I'm old like them.

My mom pulls her head back further to look at my dad. Then she leans forward and presses her lips to his. That's when I look back down to my shells and giggle. They are always kissing. It’s kind of gross for a kid to have to watch all the time. Before I even realize what's happening, I see my dad run towards me. He's almost at my feet when my mom yells out, Run, Jess! I only have enough time to rise to my feet and turn before my dad's big arms engulf me and then he's running towards the water. I'm laughing so hard I can't protest what's about to happen.

He takes a few big steps into the water and then flings me up into the air. I come down with a big splash into the water. I knew it was coming, so I have time to close my mouth and pinch my nose. When I come up to the surface, I start to laugh. That was so much fun. Mom has joined us, and we begin a splashing fight.

After a while, we head back up to the shore and flop back down onto our towels. Dad asks me what I would like for dinner and of course I say French fries, my favorite food. He laughs and walks back towards the parking lot where a few food vans are parked. The sun is starting to set, so Mom and I stretch out beside each other on our towels and watch as the sun goes down.

I turn to her and ask her a question that just popped into my head. Mom, what makes you happy? She turns her head towards me and gives me a huge smile before she answers me. Love. The love your dad has for me, the love I have for him, and the gift our love created together: you. She leans over and kisses my nose while reaching to hold my hand.

Dad returns and we eat our dinner on the sand while watching the sun slip down until it disappears into the water. Then we pack up and head back to our car. On the way home, Dad turns on my favorite radio station so I can sing along to the songs. I notice my mom is staring at my dad while he drives, and every now and then he stares back at her for a second and smiles before his eyes return to the road. But my mom never turns away.

When we reach our home, I head up to my bathroom for a shower to rid myself of all the sand I have brought back with me. When I'm finished, I put my PJs on and head down to the kitchen for a drink before I go to bed. When I'm about to walk into the kitchen, I stop at the sight of my mom and dad kissing again. But this time, I don't turn away. This time, I watch. They are holding each other so tight, their lips slowly moving over each other’s. Then they pull back and rest their foreheads together, looking so happy. This, before me, is what love looks like.

I wake with a smile on my lips. I can't remember the last time a memory of my mom left me with a smile. I remember that day so vividly, mainly because that was the first time I discovered what love was all about. Just watching my mom and dad so happy together made me feel like I was a part of something special. A family full of love. I knew that one day that was what I wanted too. Love.

And I have that with Wade.

Someone I can make my own happy memories with. Someone who will love me as much as I will love him. But is love enough? Is it enough to get you through the bad times and the hard times? Is it enough to let you forgive someone for telling a lie or hiding the truth? Is it enough to keep my demons away? My life hasn't given me enough experiences to answer these questions.

At fourteen, my life as I knew it was taken away. And for the next six years, I didn't really live a life at all.

When the accident happened, I was in shock for a few days. I think it wasn't until her funeral that the reality of what happened really sank in. When we got back to our home with all of our friends and family, with everyone asking how I was and all the noise in our house, it was too much to handle. I ran up the stairs to my bedroom, closed the door, and finally started to cry. And that's how I stayed for three weeks.

My poor dad thought he was doing the right thing by letting me handle the loss in my own way. He would sometimes lie on the bed with me, just holding me, telling me it was okay, to just let it all out, that everything would get better. Other times, I think it got too much for him, and he left me to cry on my own.

My poor dad. He was grieving for his wife, his soul mate, the mother of his child at the same time as dealing with his teenage daughter falling further and further apart. He tried so hard to reach me. Never giving up. Always trying something or speaking to someone on how to get through to me. How to help me better deal with the grief I was drowning in. He was always such a strong man, but even his strength was tested.

In my small moments of clarity, I would look at my dad and wonder how he was coping. Was he putting on a brave face for me, for our concerned family and friends? Was he falling apart once he was behind the closed door of his bedroom? I wanted to ask him so many times how he was, but I could never find the right words to ask without making myself fall down into a sobbing mess. And it just became easier to try and not think about our emotions at all. Any memory of my mom, good or bad, would make me hysterical. And when he first started seeing Louise, I couldn't bring myself to care about his feelings anymore. But I soon saw she was good for him. She was exactly what he needed, and I couldn't help him even if I wanted to.

But it did make it harder to walk around my house. Everywhere I turned was a memory of my mom. It was bad enough that I was having horrible vivid nightmares of her screaming out for help right before she died. I couldn't risk bringing up memories of her during the day as well.

Even though my dad made me see a lot of different doctors and try various therapies, nothing worked to bring me out of the depression that had gripped me so tightly. I couldn't quite understand what was happening to me. I just thought I was really sad about the death of my mother. I thought it was what it felt like for anyone who had lost a loved one. It took me a while to understand what all the doctors were talking about when they would mention the word depression.

But even though I eventually started to understand, it still didn't do anything to stop it or ease it in any way. I just got better at hiding it from others. Learning to put on a false voice and fake smile to make my dad and others around me feel like I was getting a bit better as time went by. And I discovered that if I kept myself very busy all day, made sure my mind was occupied with something all the time, I didn't have the chance to think about my mom very often, which left only the nightmares to contend with.

The various doctors I saw over the years tried giving me different medications to help me cope with my emotions or to help me sleep at night. Nothing worked. They all left me feeling worse and increased the intensity of my nightmares. So I came to my own conclusion that it was living in my family home that was holding me back from finding a way to cope with my loss. Walking around our home with so many memories of my mother was always a reminder